


Stay

by gigi_originally



Series: You Can Have It All (Tell Me What For) [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Kink, Daddy Issues, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear of Discovery, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi_originally/pseuds/gigi_originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take off your business suit</p><p>OR</p><p>“Get on the desk.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> **_NOT_ safe for work.** Or public. Or anywhere TBH. Written for the [darlingpankinkmeme](http://darlingpankinkmeme.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr so kinks abound. #onlyGodcanjudgeme 
> 
> Seriously, if you get into shit for reading this around other people, you have been warned.
> 
> i'm not even sorry at this point

George Darling is not at all enthused about the meeting he is walking toward. The bank’s newest executive, Peter Pan, is nothing but a jumped up little shit in George’s personal opinion. The boy--for that is what he is; Pan had been in George’s daughter’s class in secondary school--barely listens to a word anyone says. His position was probably the result of his vague relation to the bank director, Mr. Gold.

(But that was being ungenerous).

In spite of his distaste for the boy’s attitude, even George has to admit that Pan has a way about him when it comes to dealing with people. He is never, ever intimidated, even by the biggest names and most fearsome reputations. That fearlessness does their bank well in certain negotiations. In all other circumstances, it simply grates on George’s nerves.

The man takes a quick left turn and stops shortly in front of Pan’s secretary’s desk. The pretty blonde (Bell or Tinkle or whatever her hippie parents named her) is preoccupied with the lanky blond actuary (one of Pan’s particular friends) from two floors below. George clears his throat and watches the girl’s eyes widen while the boy simply leans back against the desk. Felix (is that it?) nods a careless greeting as though George does not play golf with his direct supervisor at least once a month.

“Is Pan in?” George asks perfunctorily. He is already moving toward the rich oak doors to Pan’s ridiculous office. It is a corner office, of course, with more space than anyone rightly needed for banking. It is ostentatious and wholly undeserved by an unproven greenhorn.

(George is not bitter; he is not.)

When Tink/Bell squeaks something like a protest, George’s free hand is already turning Pan’s cold doorknob. Felix Whatever-his-name is wearing an odd, knowing smirk that prickles at George’s skin like a schoolboy’s intimately shaming taunt. The older gentleman turns away from it with a stiffened spine and walks brazenly into Pan’s office  _sans_ knocking.

This meeting has been scheduled for the past two weeks after all; Pan  _must_ be expecting him.

* * *

Peter Pan both loves and hates his job. Not that there is much for him to do. He’s not big on numbers and accounts and mathematics. That is more Felix’s division. But Peter is a whizz at getting what he wants out of people and his dear old uncle (more like brother but no one talks about that) has found a way for him to put that particular talent to use. It is the worst of growing up, this repetitive daily grind full of tedious responsibilities, so Peter has extracted what joys he can.

He gets himself the best office and the nicest secretary. He keeps his friends as close as possible. He fills his days with all sorts of distractions, mostly games and people he likes to play with. Every once in a while, he brokers a deal too difficult for the peons.

(It is almost a fair trade.  Almost)

Finally, Peter makes especially sure his favourite perk is well accessible.

Wendy Darling, the sweet innocent angel of his teenage dreams, has his cock in her mouth and her legs spread wide beneath his desk when her very strict father walks in unannounced. Peter smirks lazily down at her then meets her father’s eyes squarely just as the Darling daughter opens her lips wide and slides the length of him into her tight little throat.

(He nearly comes but that would ruin the game.)

“Pan,” George’s greeting is curt.

“Mr. Darling,” Peter returns with a tilt of his head. He can’t risk further movement. He is sprawled on his plush desk chair, legs open for Wendy to fit between. He’s at exactly the right place that anyone on the opposite side can’t tell his zip is undone. The rest of his dark grey suit is pristine.

Under the shelter of his massive desk, Wendy’s eyes fly open and her fingers dig into his trouser-clad legs. Her rouge-painted lips are still stretched taut around his girth though and his hand clenches in her hair. He holds her in place even as she tries to pull her head back. George Darling turns to close the door behind himself and Peter takes the opportunity to hiss at the Darling daughter, “Stay.”

Her eyes go wide at his tone. They’ve been doing this; playing this particular game long enough for her to know when she needs to  _obey_ . Wendy’s blue eyes stay wide and frightened but she can’t hide the way she swallows thickly around him or the way her mouth waters as her father’s footsteps draw closer.

“I would get up,” Peter says, “but I hurt my leg in gym.”

He leans forward with his arm outstretched, the fingers tangled in in Wendy’s curls pulling her down on his length as he shakes her father’s hand. Peter talks over the low sound of Wendy choking. When he leans back in his chair, Wendy’s eyes are watering, her mascara running slightly. She’s perfection, she’s ruined, she’s  _his_ .

George settles into a chair and begins to talk about the Charmings’ fiduciary trust. Peter only half listens, his attention torn between George’s drone in his ear and George’s daughter trying to make him cum down her throat. And he knows she’s  _trying_ .

Wendy, for all that she wore more white than all the virgin brides in Italy and acted like Mother Teresa, was no saint. She had figured out in high school how to make him spill down her throat in the space of ten minutes between classes and while he has had the benefit of years to build up his tolerance, she has had the same amount of time to just get better.

She is doing a marvellous job of sucking him off in the lewdest way while keeping as quiet as she can.

Her tongue rasps up the length of his cock before she stops to tongue in earnest at the sensitive spot beneath his head. George chooses that very moment, when she is meeting his eyes and gently blowing hot air across his tip, to ask his opinion.

His opinion is that, as fun as this is, George needs to get the fuck out so Peter can lay Wendy out like he wants to and fuck her until she  _sings_ .

Peter licks his lips and bites the inside of his cheek as Wendy swallows him to the hilt. She works her throat around him until he knocks one of his knees against her shoulder. She pulls back and there is a soft popping sound. In the silence that follows, Peter hears her little gasp for air as clear as day. He freezes, pen dangling between his fingers as she works her hand up and down his slick shaft, her smirk as wicked as his. That is when he realizes his mistake.

Well, it’s never a mistake to get Wendy worked up and wet for him but he’d thought she would get off on obeying him.  He hadn’t thought -- he should have known she would get off on the idea of doing this in front of her father. Wendy has always had... _trouble_ with authority. She handled it far better than he ever did but she remains defiant and rebellious and her major grouse is always with her father’s old fashioned expectations of her.

God, he is going to be  _wrecked._ Then he’s going to wreck  _her._

And George still wants an answer.

Peter silently thanks God that the older man has evidently lost some of his hearing. He starts to rattle off some nonsense about the recent change in the law and how Queen Bitch Mills is probably going to come down hard on them over it. He doesn’t even know if it has anything to do with George’s question; especially not when Wendy is rubbing the soft, wet insides of her lips around his tip and tonguing at his slit.

Shit, he’s too fucking close.

He drops the pen he was holding suddenly -- honestly, it slips because his fingers are fucking trembling -- and then he has an idea. He leans down, still talking amicably with George, and pushes Wendy back by the shoulder. He ducks his head under the desk and gives her a stern look that she counters by glancing down at the mess she’s made of herself. Her chin is covered in saliva and she’s let it run unheeded all down her chest. Her shirt is a disaster.

Her legs are still spread wide; wider now that she’s had to lean away from him and her pretty cunt is glistening. He tilts his head sideways, lays his ear on the desk and makes a show for George of feeling around for the pen as he talks. When he sinks his fingers into Wendy up to the knuckles, he meets George’s eye and grins as he quips about his uncle’s proclivity for drama in his investments. George is, of course, unamused.

Peter listens to him rattle on more about the option of investing with the Aurora Group instead  even as Peter rubs unrelentingly at the man’s sweet little daughter’s clit. Wendy’s vicegrip on Peter’s calf tightens to bruising as she cums hard, teeth biting into his clothed knee to keep quiet.  Part out of spite for her earlier efforts, part because he just wants to, Peter dips his fingers inside her again, gets them good and wet feeling the fluttering of her muscles, then drags them upward as he sits back up.

When he reaches her mouth, he pushes them inside, making her taste herself on his hand. He hooks his fingers behind her teeth and drags her forward as he leans back in his chair.  She sucks all her juices off his fingers with his cock pressed against the smoothness of her cheek. Peter looks down as he slowly pulls his fingers out of her mouth. Her father finally sounds like he’s wrapping up this pointless conversation but Peter is more interested in the way her pupils are blown dark and huge, the way her unsteady breaths puff tantalizingly on his heated flesh.

George needs to go  _now_ .

“Yes, Mr. Darling, that’s all well and good but I can’t actually  _do_ anything about it quite yet,” Peter says as evenly as possible given that Wendy has started lightly kissing her way down his shaft again. Her lips feather against his acutely sensitive skin and he swallows before saying: “I apologize but I have a personal matter I need to attend to this afternoon so I’m going to have to cut this short.”

* * *

George sniffs once but nods. There’s no use in fighting the boy and really, when did it become George’s job to wrangle higher-ups into doing their jobs? He said his piece to the little shit. However much of it sticks is up to Pan.

George has the distinct impression the boy has been half-playing with him through the whole conversation. Something about the light in his sharply focused eyes puts the older man on edge. As for the whole fiasco with the pen; George had almost offered to go around the desk and find the damn thing for the boy himself.

Alas, he had more dignity and better nerves than that. He’d raised three children of his own, each a hellraiser in their own way. Even his lovely little Wendy had had her moments growing up. She’d grown out of it, thank goodness, sometime around Year 11.

Not that Year 11 had been all sunshine. That had been the year George Darling first met Peter Pan. The boy had been over to work on some project or the other. Wendy technically hadn’t been allowed to have people over without he or Mary around but, as it was for school, they made the exception not to embarrass her in front of the boy. When they had finished ‘discussing’ it in the kitchen, the boy had come sauntering out of Wendy’s room with his eternal, infernally smug smirk etched across his face like runes on stone.

Perhaps that too was part of George’s lingering dislike. He had seen the way Pan’s eyes lingered on the hem of Wendy’s skirt and the collar of her shirt. George wasn’t too old or too foolish not to notice another man’s attraction to a pretty girl. That the girl was George’s daughter simply gave him a reason to hate the boy.

_At least_ , George thinks as he stands,  _they’d gone their separate ways after sixth form._

He shakes Peter’s hand again over the desk and it is only the way the boy winces as he leans forward that convinces George that Pan probably wasn’t lying about that gym injury. George tells him to review the documents he’d sent over earlier that week and that he’ll contact Ms. Bell some time during the next fortnight for a follow up. (He hopes that’s the name and not Tinkle -- Tinkle would be utterly unfortunate on such a pretty girl.)

As he closes the door behind him, he spies Pan with his head thrown back against the chair and his hands over his face. He has a sudden flash of sympathy for the young man, much to his own irritation.  _Must be an awful personal matter_ , George thinks as he nods a quick goodbye to the blonde secretary.

George is almost at the elevators when he realizes his hand feels odd. It’s the hand Pan shook and George, rather than going down the treacherous path of thinking about what filth lingers under Pan’s desk, simply detours to the bathroom to wash.

* * *

When the door closes behind her father, Peter pushes away from his desk and Wendy and watches as the light streaming through his windows illuminates all her debauched glory. Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth swollen, her pussy and thighs shiny and drenched.

_Fucking hell._

“Up,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. Wendy obeys, as always, but in her own way. She crawls out from under his desk like a panther, slim shoulders moving sensuously as she makes her way toward him.

“Get on the desk,” he says once she’s clear.

“With all those documents still there?” she asks. Her tone is innocent and sweet but her voice is hoarse from choking on his cock and the juxtaposition makes him twitch.

He gets to his feet, pants still loose and undone around his hips, and walks her backward until her naked backside hits the edge of his desk. He reaches around her, picks up all the papers that would impede them and drops them into the top drawer of his desk. When he looks back at her, she hasn’t moved so he warns: “I said  _up_ , Darling.”

She hops up onto the desk with no effort and  _crosses her legs_ . Her green lace panty dangles from one ankle, half caught on the heel of her patent leather stiletto.  _Fuck this girl_ \-- which is exactly what he’s going to do.

But first he’s going to lock that door in case her oblivious father wanders back in. There’d be no hiding the fact that he was balls deep inside the eldest Darling child if she’s sprawled across his desk and screaming his name. As much as the idea appeals to the daredevil in him, Peter wants to fuck his girl without interruption now.

Before moving to the door, he reaches out and uncrosses her legs; pushes them wide apart and rubs his index along the length of her slit as she quivers. He brings the same finger up to point in her face and tells her sternly, “Stay.”

It takes him less than a minute to lock his office door but it feels like forever. On his desk, Wendy’s hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the wood and she’s rolling her hips gently with her eyes closed and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Stop it.”

She freezes, eyes flying open to meet his. Then her expression grows positively sinful. She resumes, eyes fixed on his, and says simply:

“ _No_ .”

_Fuck no_ , he thinks. He moves in a flash, his left hand burying itself in her hair and his right clamping hard on her hip, right below her hiked up pencil skirt. Finally, her movements cease completely. He yanks her head back none too gently and makes her look him in the eye. She looks wild, excited,  _perfect_ .

“You,” he growls as he steps properly into the bracket of her legs, “are being terribly naughty today, Bird.”

She quirks her eyebrows at him in response and licks her lips with her mouth hanging open. “You like it.”

“I fucking  _love_ it,” he corrects but, despite the affectionate words, his hands get rougher with her. After a short, searing kiss, he tugs her forward by the hip until she’s barely resting her ass on the edge of his desk. He aligns with the impossible heat of her but steadies himself. He brushes against her lightly just to hear her whimper, watches her eyes dart across the expanse of his face, watches the hint of desperation creep into her expression as he refuses to give her more. She’s beautiful and wretched and  _his_ .

“Beg me,” he breathes against the shell of her ear. “Beg me like the whore you are.”

Her hips jerk and a strangled whimper escapes her parted lips. Her legs almost close, stopped only by his hips fitted between them. He smirks into the crook of her shoulder as her heels catch on the fabric of his trousers. He presses a kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder and continues, voice a low, breathy rasp on her skin.

“You like that, don’t you? Little Wendy Darling, always playing the good girl but you’re just a  _whore_ on your knees,” he puts emphasis on the word, sharpens the syllables until they cut his tongue. Wendy bucks against him, keening low in the back of her throat.

“Answer me,” he demands as he bites into her collarbone.

“Yes!” she gasps. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and admits, “Yes, I like it.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he moves his hand between them. His fingers trace along her slick folds, dipping inside her sporadically. “I don’t hear you begging.”

“Please,” she bursts out quite loudly. “Please, Peter, fuck me. I need your cock.”

She sounds utterly desperate and half-crazed. God, he’s never called her a whore before. It’s not something he’s ever thought to do but, apparently, it’s a thing.  _And my, what a good thing it is._ Who knew this was her kink? She’s practically leaking all over him already. She’s poised, right at the edge of orgasm; he can tell from the tightness of her muscles when he pushes his fingers inside her. He doesn’t want her to cum yet.

“Not good enough, Bird,” he says as he scrapes her clit with the pad of his thumb. Her whole body shudders. “I want  _more_ . I want to hear the girl who’ll suck a guy off with her father not four feet away.”

She  _moans_ . God, this daddy thing is her issue. How did six years of fucking never give him this before? It’s exquisite. She looks like she’s half in pain, half in ecstasy and that turns him on. They’ve each got their kinks; no shame.

“Peter,  _please_ ,” she pleads breathlessly, “Fuck me. Fuck me like a whore. I’m yours. I’m your whore. Please, fuck me.  _Please_ .”

She drags out the last 'please' like a child and the complete lack of control on her part undoes him.

He doesn’t waste anymore words, just  palms him cock, lines up and sinks into her; watches her eyes roll back and her back arch as she comes around him. Fuck, he’s rarely managed  _that_ before.

She hasn’t even finished spasming when she pants out a harsh, “Move.”

For all that Peter is the dominant one, he will take that order. He rocks his hips against her, his pace hard and fast. He loosens the hand in her hair and her torso falls limp across his desk even as her hips move to match his pace. He meets her eyes when they open and their stare holds. He’s not going to last, he knows he isn’t -- he’s been half-coming since she was under his desk. Still, he wants to feel  _her_ cum again, wants her to absolutely lose her mind; wants Tink to hear her scream.

He runs his hands down the back of her legs, pulls them up to hitch around his middle and  _there_ , that’s the angle. She groans when he hits just the right place inside her, her head falling to the side. He glances down to where they join and it’s almost too much to see himself disappearing inside her pink, swollen flesh. He sets his right hand to work against her clit and cups her cheek with his left. Her head turns at his nudging and he tilts her head back with gentle fingers under her chin.

“Look at me,” he orders.

Wendy opens her eyes and she can tell immediately what’s coming. Her mouth parts and her head tilts just that little bit more. Peter would smirk if he could do anything other than try to hold off his orgasm long enough to give her hers. Instead, he slides his hand down her cheek and wraps his fingers around her throat. He applies just a little pressure, just enough to constrict but not cut off. His hips move faster as her eyes widen and her muscles start to tighten around him. She’s right there on the precipice, eyes wide and fingers clawing at his tightening hand around her neck. He won’t let up, not yet.

“Cum,” he grinds out, waits for her to register his words. Then, “Cum on my cock, whore.”

He thrusts hard into her and lets go of her throat. His deep, satisfied groan is lost under her wail. Her hips tremble against his uncontrollably as she comes, back taut as a pulled bow, mouth open and suddenly soundless, eyes rolled way back. He feels wetness flood around him and she’s so, so tight. When her body stops shaking, he pulls out.

“Well, that’s going to be hard to explain,” he murmurs as liquid drips down onto the carpet between his feet.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

He watches her throw an arm over her face and gropes around behind him for his chair to collapse on. His fingers brush the leather and he drags it toward him, falling heavily into it as Wendy pushes herself up on shaky elbows. They stare at each other for a long moment, him between her legs with ruined trousers and her splayed across his desk like a conquered map.

“Wow,” she says finally.

He smirks. “That good?”

Even with her legs spread in front of his face, she still manages to look at him like he’s an idiot. No wonder he’s in love with her. She gestures vaguely at her dripping sex in reply.

“Point taken,” he concedes with a grin. Then his eyes catch on her knees. She wasn’t wearing stockings today and she’d been kneeling on rough carpet for quite a while. Her kneecaps are red with rug burn. Tenderly, he brings his hands up to touch them. He runs his fingers over the abused skin then presses his mouth first to one knee then the other.

Wendy watches him warily because they haven’t really… well, they’re exclusive and together and it’s been six years of this but they haven’t said the words that little actions like these clearly shout. They both  _know_ , they’ve just never said.

The silence between them drags on for a moment too long and Wendy shifts. She pushes herself up into a sitting position and starts trying to tame her hair as she says, “I should get going.”

“No,” comes out hard and automatic but it’s what he means to say do he doesn’t mind. He’s not letting her just leave -- not after that.

“No,” he repeats more softly. He kisses the inside of her knee and then reaches up to bring her face down to his. The kiss he gives her is the opposite of how he fucked her. It’s a slow, gentle melding of their mouths. When they break apart, he whispers, “Stay.”

This time, it’s a plea.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  50\. Wendy gives Peter a blowjob under a desk while he talks to someone.
> 
> reactions would be nice? :)


End file.
